Little By Little
by FerryBerry
Summary: ON HIATUS. Canon thru S5. The changes in Quinn and Rachel's lives after Finn's passing and their graduations, that both tear them apart and bring them together. Quinn/OC, Rachel/Brody, eventual Faberry.
1. We're So Far Away

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**Chapter 1: We're So Far Away** (Mae)

_July 15, 2014_

One hundred and eighty days. At last, the final mark on Quinn Fabray's glossy wall calendar was checked off, and the moment of her boyfriend's, Noah Puckerman, return from his tour of duty had come. They had spent only a week together again, back in January, when their old glee club's reunion brought them back into each other's lives, and for the third time in five years, they tried again.

Their relationship had never come easy. After he had coaxed her into sleeping with him via copious amounts of alcohol, she was, naturally, opposed to having anything to do with him again. That is, until his occasional sweetness during her ensuing pregnancy lured her into several failed attempts to trust and give herself to him. The most recent attempt, shortly after their graduation from high school, had led to only more failures, but this time was different.

This time, Puck had pledged his love to Quinn, and she to him, and there was no one else in the way. Not her previous beaus, Finn or Sam; not his many conquests, most notably Lauren and the adoptive mother of their daughter. Not disagreements over said daughter, Beth, or even any other kind of disagreement.

The only thing in the way this time was Puck's impending tour of duty, one hundred and eighty days away from Quinn, to fly the skies in the Air Force on a military base in some undisclosed location.

In the intervening time, they had managed, twice, to chat on a broken video feed. The conversations were equally broken, of course, and Quinn quickly gave up on sending him any further emails to set up any such communication again. It was much easier to update him on life back in the States via email than to try to space her words out with an unpredictable link that, on the second occasion, ended their video within five minutes.

Luckily, they had already discussed plans of his return the day he left, the day she dropped him off at the airport and then, for the next hundred and eighty days, returned to her happy life at Yale University, and spared him a thought and an email every month of his absence. Puck would return home and meet her at her apartment in New Haven, and stay a week before he set off for Lima to visit with his mother, brother, and sister, and then they would simply have to hope that the video feed for trans-American conversations was more trustworthy than that for overseas. At least until they could see each other again.

Quinn replaced the cap on her fresh red marker as she stared at the final cross through the day, and sighed out her nostrils. It did not, unfortunately, surprise her that her enthusiasm was…lacking. It was only the last in a long line of regrettably missing feelings that she had noticed in her reunion with Puck, highest among those being anger. With nothing to fight over, the two also had little to base the theory of their feelings on. No fabled 'spark' to keep them trying.

Except Quinn did have one very good reason to keep trying. Her daughter. Now four years old, it was only a matter of time before Beth started asking questions. Questions about her real parents, about the why and the how and all the uncomfortable but inevitable little things that children latched onto and that Beth, admittedly, had every right to know. Quinn had hoped that it might help, in some small way, to know that her biological parents were together. The idea of being born out of love, perhaps, might heal some hurt.

Only Beth hadn't been born out of love.

Quinn started out of her reverie at the sound of hard knocks on the door filtering through the apartment to her bedroom, blowing another sigh from her body and smoothing out the skirt of her tan cotton dress before she went to sate the impatient man at her door.

Puck greeted her with a grin and a gentleman's bow, tucking the cap of his uniform under his arm, and sending a chuckle to Quinn's throat. He did look handsome in a uniform, straightened, firm, and fit. Though she supposed uniforms tended to improve on anyone.

"Puck," was the only thing she said before stepping forward into his embrace, arms looping up around his strong shoulders. His arms snaked around her waist in turn, pulling her firm against his stomach.

"Mm. God, I missed you, baby mama." Puck dropped her down to her heels again, grinning lopsidedly. No matter how gentlemanly the rest of him became, that grin would always drip with roguishness.

She smiled. "I missed you, too. At least, seeing your face actually move when you talk."

He responded with a hearty chuckle, elbow jerking out for her to take. "So can I take you to lunch, fair lady?"

Quinn snuffed, taking her keys from the long black jacket hanging on her coat rack and dropping them into her dress pocket before she slid her arm through his, and smiled. "You may indeed."

She received only a smile in response, fainter than the rest, but she didn't linger. Nor did she linger on the fact that Puck had no suitcase in hand. Rather, Quinn simply enjoyed Puck's familiar yet new company while he opened doors for her, pulled out her chair at the little corner café she led him to, and regaled her about his friends in the Air Force and his flight home.

While he perused the menu, Quinn leaned forward against the table to watch him as closely as he read the fine print on the slim sheet of paper that served as the café's carte du jour. Puck was still a handsome man. Perhaps even more so now that he'd aged. She was sure he would only grow more into his looks, and if he kept up this change of heart, this gentlemanliness and straight path, he would make for a wonderful husband, and father, one day.

"Do I already have something in my teeth?"

Quinn blinked her eyes clear and promptly chuckled, breaking her gaze down to her lap instead. "No, sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

A glance up found Puck staring at her in much the same steady way she had been gazing at him, only she recognized the look in his eye. The bottom of her stomach dropped out, but she only stared back, and gripped the hem of her dress tightly between her fingers. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he set the menu down under his hands, and leaned toward her.

She tried, truly and hard, to keep from moving away, to allow Puck to kiss her and to perhaps regain a feeling she had lost…or create one she had never had. But his lips were so near and she knew, knew he'd want more from her, that he would want to roll around in bed for the remainder of the week and her stomach lurched, and she turned her head so his lips pressed into her cheek.

They lingered, those lips, for just a moment more, before Puck sat back unperturbed, and Quinn let her eyes open.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, reflexively, but he smiled.

"Don't be," he repeated. "I kinda figured."

Her infamous eyebrow twitched upward. "Figured what?"

"That this was over," Puck said simply.

Quinn breathed out, and fingered the table cloth, smoothing out the small wrinkle in it. Before she could come up with anything to say, the waiter on duty arrived to take their order, and they sent him off for both drinks and food, buying a little time to talk without interruption while it was being prepared.

"I didn't really think this was gonna last, you know," Puck chuckled out, once they were alone. "I mean, at first, maybe. But then I thought about it, while I was gone, and…you never loved me. Not—"

"I do," she said quickly, and he tilted his head. "I do…love you." Uneasily, she shrugged her shoulders. "You're the father of my child."

"Because of Beth," he agreed, nodding. "You always…cared. But it's not the same way I've cared about you. Never will be."

Quinn fiddled with the small tray of sugar packets in between them, sliding it in circles on the fabric.

"It's okay, though, Q. I get it, y'know?" Puck carefully took the tray, pushing it aside to take her fingers in his, dipping his head to meet her eyes. "I mean, not completely, but let's face it, you're a freaking mind boggling mystery." He grinned, and she couldn't help but smile, even a tiny bit. He stroked his thumbs across her hands. "But it's cool. And Beth…she'll be okay with it, too."

Quinn lifted her eyes sharply, but again he only smiled.

"Give me a _little_ credit here, baby mama. I know almost everything you do has something to do with her. It does for me, too." He squeezed her fingers lightly. "I thought about it, too. But it's not gonna matter, if we're together or not, because her real question is gonna be _why_."

She nodded at last, as he gazed so earnestly across at her, and broke her hands from his grip as the waiter returned. She tore wrapping off her straw, sticking it in her water, and spread ranch over her salad, while he busied himself smearing his burger with ketchup. Once they were settled, and only then, movements progressing to eating, did Quinn speak again.

"If you've thought about that…then you must've thought about the custody, too." She waited until Puck met her eyes, and nodded, before she said carefully, "I don't want things to get ugly, if something should happen. I don't think it will; Shelby is in good health, but…"

Puck nodded his head again, and washed down his throat with his coffee before he answered, "I think you should take her."

Quinn's eyebrow rose, again. "You do."

"For now, yeah. As long as I'm doing what I'm doing, my life's not stable, it's not good for a kid," he explained. "Don't get me wrong, I'd want visitation. But you and Shelby send me papers that custody goes to you, I'll sign them."

She felt a breath loosen her chest, and nodded back to him. "You could see her whenever you like."

The corner of his mouth lifted at her, before he burst out, "Great, now let's stop talking about this before some shit really does happen." He pounded his fist on the table, rattling the silverware, and pulling a laugh from her throat.

"Okay," she agreed, smiling over at him.

She picked up her fork to tuck into her salad, and only got to a third bite before he softly interrupted the silence.

"I want us to stay friends, Q."

Quinn drew her gaze up to Puck's suddenly vulnerable, serious face, and smiled, reaching for his hand.

"Friends."

#

_October 10, 2014_

It was hard to believe—no, scratch that—_impossible_ to believe it had been a year. An entire year since the love of Rachel Berry's life passed away. She had been trying to believe it and failing every day since she got the news. It was as unreal now as the moment she heard the words.

_Finn is dead_.

No. It wasn't right.

In some ways, Rachel felt it. She felt that he was gone, she knew that he was never coming back, but there was some part of her that still didn't fully grasp his absence. It only made sense, of course. Outside of her dreams of starring on Broadway, Finn had been a part of every wish she had made since high school, since the first time they sang together. 'You're the One That I Want.' A classic.

To think that he was gone forever was simply…unthinkable.

That's why Rachel was standing there, at Finn Hudson's grave, exactly a year after he had passed on. She had woken at five that morning, had ditched rehearsals on the new show, a revival of _The Wizard of Oz_, for the day, to drive the ten hours back to Lima, Ohio, and commemorate her lost love, again. Unlike everyone else. Everyone else who was too distracted with their own life to even notice that Finn was still gone from every memory they were making, every moment of their lives.

A crunch in the gravel path nearby caught Rachel's ear, and within a moment, she knew who it was. Quinn was standing there on the cemetery road, bundled up from neck to toe in the cold air, already wintry in nature, biting at a pink nose and cheeks. All in black in a long coat and gloves, a scarf snug around her neck, and in her hand, a single white flower. And she hadn't changed one bit.

Rachel felt herself tighten, a frown dropping her lips. "What are you doing here?"

Quinn's expression suddenly shifted, gliding from surprise to a smile, and it only served to deepen Rachel's frown, even as Quinn moved closer, and lifted the flower she now realized was a gardenia.

"Since I didn't get to be here for his memorial, I thought I'd…come today instead," she explained, and settled the gardenia neatly on the thick top of the headstone.

Rachel watched the little leaves off the stem flutter in the breeze, the white sharp against the grey granite. Quinn was watching her. Her shoulders tightened again.

"I'm not leaving," she snipped.

A flash of blonde shook in her peripheral vision. "I don't expect you to."

Rachel dug her fingers further into her own coat pockets. Her keys embedded sharply in the middle of her palm. "What do you want?"

"I've missed you," Quinn said quickly.

She scoffed. "You have an…incredible way of showing it. You're around so much, after all."

"Being away doesn't change how you feel about a person."

Rachel blew out a soft breath, shaking her head as she turned to face Quinn properly, stomping her feet in the grass. "Well, _clearly_, you've already found your way to move on from how you 'feel' about Finn, so why don't you just leave?"

Quinn's hazel eyes blinked a couple times, as she worked her gloved hands together in front of her. "Actually, Puck and I aren't…together anymore."

She gave a roll of her eyes. "I know, Santana told me. Sorry about your loss."

"Mm, no, you're not."

"You're quick," Rachel snipped, eyes narrowed, and turned back to the headstone where her attention belonged.

For a moment, she thought Quinn might actually leave. She heard feet shifting on the grass next to her, and a breath, but then, those eyes were watching her again.

"You know, I can…I can see that you're in pain," Quinn said lowly. "And you can talk to me. If you want."

Rachel frowned up at her sincere face. "Why are you so eager to be my friend _now_? After all this time. I could've used this shoulder a year ago."

Quinn worked her hands together a bit more. "I'm always your friend. I just can't always be there. Especially…if I don't know you need me. But I'm here now."

Rachel turned her car keys in her fingers, rolling the fob over her pointer and cupping it in her palm. Quinn stared at her steadily. Like always. She turned her gaze away.

"You wouldn't understand anyway," she muttered.

"That doesn't mean that I can't listen," Quinn reasoned, and when Rachel looked up at her this time, the blonde gestured toward the bench across the way, next to a large birch tree, and then stared at her again, this time questioning, waiting for her, yes or no.

Rachel held her keys tightly again, ran her thumb down the cold metal and around the edge of it. She glanced down to the headstone, away from those calm hazel eyes, and then found herself backing up, walking to the bench, hearing Quinn trailing her, and sitting down next to the blonde on icy wood. But she didn't say anything. She didn't know where to start.

How was she supposed to explain the unexplainable? How was she supposed to make Quinn understand something she would never ever get, because she never loved Finn the way Rachel did. Wholeheartedly. And now, he was gone.

"People kept saying…when he died, that he would always be with me," she started, and licked at her lips. A glance at Quinn found her simply waiting. "That he'll always live in my memories and my heart. That's just what people say, though, when they don't understand, when they just want you to feel magically better because they can't fix it. They think he's still somewhere. Somewhere, in your thoughts and dreams that never happened. Like losing Finn is supposed to be this…beautiful experience, a connection to the beyond, or something, and it isn't. He's not…somewhere, he's nowhere. I don't feel beautiful. I don't feel connected. I feel that he's gone."

Rachel stopped, half-afraid to look at Quinn, steady Quinn, who was still watching her so carefully, half-expecting annoyance or disgust or any of the myriad of negative emotions she managed to always elicit from everyone around her, even people who now loved or tolerated her, even from Quinn, once upon a time. But Quinn was just calmly watching. Listening.

Rachel's brow furrowed, for a moment. "How am I supposed to stop wanting the life we were supposed to have together? How am I supposed to stop dreaming of the day we come together again and we fulfill all the dreams and promises we shared? What do I dream of instead? Am I supposed to just pretend he never existed, like everyone else? Go back to being the person who never met him?"

Quinn's only answer was a silent shake of the head, and Rachel swallowed. Tears were already streaming down her cheeks, and she swiped at them, embarrassed but unable to look away from Quinn's even gaze nonetheless.

"I don't…want to do that, but I don't know how to stay the person he made me. He made me someone better, someone who cared about other people, and someone who…" She sniffled. "Who could do anything." She smiled, slightly.

Quinn shifted then, and Rachel glanced up expectantly. The part where Quinn was done listening, and ready to go now. Done with the whining and talking about Finn and the crying.

"Finn…didn't make you a better person," she said, and Rachel's brow crinkled. "No one makes another person, you make yourself. There's someone I love, too. I used to think she made me…softer, gentler. Better. But she didn't. I chose…to change. Not even love can make you a different person."

Rachel bit at her bottom lip, slowly prying at it. "Finn didn't want that. It's like…when we first met, he was nice to me. Freaked out by me, but nice. The first person, ever. And he'd tell me how talented I was. He was the first person, besides my dads, to see something special in me. To really _believe_ in me and my dreams. And now…you know, I try to follow what people say. He's still in my heart, right? So I try to think or…hear what he'd say. He'd say, 'It's all gonna be okay, Rach.'" She chewed hard, turning her plump lip white. "So I act like it is. But that's all it is, an act. And everyone is buying it. Kurt and Blaine and Santana and… And I can't take this anymore. I'm sick of acting like everything is- is fine and dandy so that they can feel better about him being gone, too."

She sniffled again, harder, and this time when Quinn shifted, Rachel didn't ready herself to rise off the bench. Rather, she blinked down blearily at the tissue Quinn offered, and then blew her nose quietly, uttering a soft 'thank you.'

"You know, I'm just as selfish as I used to be. Only now, I just don't say it. I don't tell Kurt that I _hate_ seeing him with his new husband, even if it's—no, _especially_ because it's Blaine, or my dads that no amount of Barbra is going to make me feel better, or my director that I _can't_ sing any happier, because all I want to do is rip up every single sheet of music and throw it in his face for making me smile on stage when I just…I just want to scream. I'm _furious_," she said, stunned. "I'm furious that I'm never going to have a life with him, I'm furious that he's gone. Is that…do you think that's wrong?"

She peered up at Quinn, but there was no judgment in her eyes. She simply offered a quiet, "No."

Rachel gazed at her for just a moment longer before she turned back into the tissue, blowing hard and wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

"Do you…think it's selfish to miss someone?" Quinn said then, drawing her attention once again. "I miss someone all the time."

"I just feel so ungrateful," Rachel explained, softly. "I know that they just love me, that they want me to feel better, but… How am I supposed to feel better when all I can think about is the life we're never going to have? You know, I had everything planned out. Our lives, after we got back together eventually. What neighborhood of New York we'd live in, his job, when we'd get married, _where_ we'd get married. Our kids' names."

She paused, lingering, sniffling. "You know, if I had had Finn's baby, a part of him really would still be here."

Quinn shuffled next to her again. "It's no use to think about things that can never happen."

"It could've happened, though," Rachel retorted, peering up at her desperately. "If I had just been with him, if I had—"

"If you had…then Finn might still be gone, and you'd have a baby without a father," Quinn said gently, and Rachel's shoulders drooped. The blonde head ducked, slightly, to meet her eyes. "You would not be better off."

Rachel only nodded, slightly, fiddling with the tissue between her fingers, turning and folding it into smaller and smaller squares. Quinn sat silent next to her, and she could still feel those eyes watching her. As steadily as they had been since Quinn walked up to honor Finn with a gardenia, the flower that, as far as she knew, had been from him and him only.

"You really get it, don't you?" Rachel said slowly, tilting her chin up to look at Quinn again. "You haven't said…any of it."

Quinn's head tilted. "Said what?"

"That everything's going to be okay. Or that I'm just going through a rough patch, and if I just keep living on, a day at a time, things will get easier," she recited, almost irritably. "You're not saying it because you get it." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry I was so harsh…earlier, I…"

Quinn's gloved hand rose slightly, calming. "You don't have to apologize for being upset."

Rachel took a soft breath. "You've changed. And yet…not, at the same time."

Quinn just smiled, very faintly.

Rachel snuffed and blew into the tissue one more time. "What do you do?"

Her head tilted again, hazel eyes tracking Rachel curiously.

"With your dreams," she clarified, carefully. "About, you know, about Beth?"

Quinn's gloves rubbed together, and for the first time since she had stepped up to Rachel at the grave, her eyes traveled elsewhere, to the dirt beneath her boots, to the gravestones.

"You don't have to tell me," Rachel hurried.

"No, it's…it's just that I don't…really do anything with my dreams. Not about her, anyway," Quinn said at length. "I want to be with her, I always will. But I know that I did the right thing for her, and I know that dreams…no matter how beautiful they are, are just dreams. And I…"

"You live your life by realities," Rachel cut in, smiling a little. Quinn only nodded, and she rubbed her eyes. "Well. Thank you for listening." She sighed, shoulders rising and falling with it. "I really do feel better."

Quinn nodded. "I'm glad."

The sensation of eyes following her every move faded again, as Quinn turned her attention to the cemetery at large, and silence settled between them. And for a few moments, Rachel was just as content to sit in the quiet as Quinn had ever been. At least until she noted how orange the sky was getting to be, how the darkness was encroaching further and further onto the sun's glow. She dug her phone from her pants pocket then, and groaned.

"Oh, God. I've got to head back or I'm going to miss tomorrow's rehearsals, too," she explained to Quinn's expectant look, and stood, brushing her pants off.

"You drove here?"

She felt Quinn stand behind her, and quickly turned about, to offer hastily, "Yeah, I just…I had to be here today." Another of those understanding nods left Rachel smiling, again. "Thank you. Again. For listening and...everything."

Quinn dipped her chin once more. "Anytime."

Rachel almost felt a smile pull at her lips, or something akin to it. "When you say it…I don't know, I actually believe it." She chewed on her sore lip. "Good night, Quinn."

Quinn just peered down at her, head cocked and lips curved, eyes gentle. "G'night."


	2. Another Perfect Day

**Chapter 2: Another Perfect Day** (American Hi-Fi)

_October 11, 2014_

Kickboxing was one of the first great things Quinn had discovered at Yale. Two years ago, in her first semester at the university, she had been immersed in a brand new culture with opportunities galore, and it had been completely overwhelming for a relatively small town girl from Ohio whose high school's most lucrative offering was a cheerleading team. So she had tried a taste of everything, except for cheerleading. Poetry jams, debate teams, swim meets, secret societies, sorority parties—the list went on.

Kickboxing was one of the first things that stuck, one of the first things that became part of Quinn's routine of enjoyable activities. Not only did it offer the same kind of physical outlet that the Cheerios had in high school, but it drained her of stress and anxiety to a certain degree. Even that didn't change when her roommate at the time, a little ball of sweetness by the name of Jenny, joined Quinn on her venture to relieve emotional duress, in a bid for having a roommate bonding activity.

That, too, had stuck, and Jenny was even at her side that very morning as they stepped back into the women's locker room to shower before the day's outside-class practices. Quinn plunked down on the bench between their chosen lockers after retrieving a water bottle from her own, steadying her breathing with slow sips while Jenny popped her locker open behind her.

"I don't know about you, but God, I needed that today!" Jenny announced to the room.

A few whoops of agreement from other rows followed, and Jenny giggled aloud. Quinn snuffed, lifting her legs to swivel and face her friend across from her.

"And whose ass were you imagining kicking today?" she prompted.

Jenny was all too quick to answer. "Professor Kirk."

"Again?"

"He's a big jerk, you don't even know. You are so lucky you chose Dramatic Writing over another Improv class." Jenny took a hunk out of the NutriGrain bar she'd packed, and shook her head while, with the opposite hand, she grabbed her deodorant.

Quinn could hardly contain a smile. "You know, for such a sweetheart, you have an awful lot of rage. If people knew the half of it, they'd be in hiding."

Jenny puffed and threw her a look over her shoulder, only to pout as she held out her deodorant for Quinn. The blonde set her water bottle between her legs to take the case from her and pop off the top, leaving the black-haired bundle with a smile instead.

"Hey, if you had to live with being asked, 'Huh, are you Japanese or Chinese?'—" she shoved the corners of her eyes up and then down "—as many times a day as I do, you'd be pretty angry, too. Speaking of which, who was the chosen target for your ass kicking rage this morning?"

Quinn swallowed down the long drink she'd been taking to answer, shrugging, "No one."

"Gosh, you are so boring sometimes," Jenny teased, smiling brightly.

Quinn shrugged and swiveled about to face her locker again, setting her water bottle on the inside as she stood and piled her folded clothes on the edge of the opening. Jenny's voice, however—or rather, the change in her tone—indicated that the conversation was not nearing its end at all, so Quinn paused, long enough to listen.

"You know, when we first started going to these classes, you had a new person practically every week," she observed, a false lightness to her voice. "Even if you didn't tell me exactly who, you'd say someone who you didn't like, or someone who irritated you."

Quinn craned her head around enough to look at Jenny, noting the nervous twitches of her friend's fingers as she turned her pink drama shirt in her hands, absently seeking the opening to lift it over her head. Quinn waited, holding her locker door in a steady hand.

"Not that I'm saying it's a bad thing, having no one to want to beat up," Jenny continued, a chuckle trailing off at the end of her words. She cleared her throat in the silence that followed. "Look, I wouldn't even bring this up, but, Quinn. All our friends always saw you as this wild, fun, up for anything kind of person and now they think you've…sown your oats and you're boring and studious. But I don't think any of that is right. In fact, I think it's sad that a bunch of drama majors can't see further into your character."

"I'm not a character," Quinn cut in at last, stiffened, and Jenny shook her head.

"No, you know what I mean, Quinn. Look, even when we were just dormmates, I never saw you as just this fun person—not that you're not fun, you're wonderful, but you were studious then, too. You wanted to experience everything, but…you always seemed restless, not interested. And you put on such a happy face with everyone, but you were always angry underneath." She paused. "Well, no. Not…angry. Sometimes, maybe. But…emotional? Everything was just beneath the surface with you."

Quinn breathed a sigh through her nostrils and turned herself completely about, cracking her neck as her hands fell to her hips. Jenny hesitated, pulled on her shirt, and stepped closer.

"Not anymore. And back then, I never would have said anything because there are boundaries you make it…really clear you shouldn't cross," Jenny chuckled, then bit it off. "But I really feel like we're good friends now, and so I feel like I can tell you…I'm worried about you. Not because you're hardly ever angry anymore or because you seem so settled now or anything like that, I mean…I'd like to know what changed, of course, but I'm not going to push you," she assured when Quinn's arms went to fold. "The thing that worries me is that you never spend time with anyone anymore. You were always dedicated to schoolwork, but now it's all you do. Aside from this, anyway. And then you disappear off the face of the planet after class yesterday..."

Jenny gestured away briefly, to the gym outside their conversation, and hesitated a few moments more as she adjusted her top, seeming to gather herself. Quinn pursed her lips, waiting.

"I guess what it boils down to is, I really care about you as my friend, Quinn," Jenny said earnestly, smiling. "And if you ever want to talk, I want you to know I'm available."

Quinn sighed again, slowly shifting her stance to settle more comfortably, hands sliding down over her shorts on her hips. After another beat, she was able to meet Jenny's sincere, almost shining hopeful eyes, and took a steadying breath.

"Look, Jenny. You know I care about you," she said slowly, ducking her head to keep a hold on Jenny's eyes. "And I appreciate the concern. I do. But—"

"But butt out," Jenny chuckled, still smiling. "I know."

Quinn's back straightened as she watched Jenny, almost laughing at her—or maybe at herself, or both, and saying, "You'd rather listen to the whole campus' problems before admitting any of your own. Just remember that you deserve someone to talk to, too? Even if it's not me, I'd feel better knowing you let _somebody_ in. Just tell me you'll think about it, okay?"

She hesitated a moment, but nodded, and accepted Jenny's side hug. "I will."

"Good. Okay, I'm so going to be late if I don't go now, so stay positive, I love you, and I'll see you at practice later," Jenny said cheerfully, and Quinn just smiled as she watched her friend bounce away, duffel bag swinging over her shoulder, not a care in the world.

She reached across the locker aisle to close Jenny's open locker and breathed out a soft sigh as she turned back to gathering her things for a shower. Once she was back and dressed, sweat freshly steamed off of her skin, she reached for her phone, and turned it in her palm a few times before swiping her thumb across the screen. Her eyebrows rose as she saw a notification from Facebook, and navigated her way there.

A grin spread across her lips at the sight of Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez, squashed cheek-to-cheek in a selfie in front of what looked like the Washington Memorial. The caption simply read, "reeeunited &amp; it feels so gooood." Quinn didn't hesitate to hit 'like,' and by the time she got out to her car to head to practice, she had another notification from Miss Brittany asking, "Q, omg, we have to taaalk, I miss u, when are u free?"

#

Rachel had just barely made it back from Lima that morning with enough time to shower, change, and head to rehearsals. As it was, the director was already peeved with her for missing the day before, and her tiredness and all-around lackadaisical performance didn't help matters. Although his attitude changed slightly when she mentioned she had missed for a funeral, he made it clear that if the show hadn't been opening the next night, he would have used her understudy in a heartbeat.

So naturally, by the time rehearsals got out, Rachel was exhausted. Possibly twice as much as when she had gotten home to her empty loft early that morning. And starving. She hadn't eaten much, only a bite of the six foot sub the cast had ordered in, after peeling off the bacon, turkey and ham slices. As such, she had considered herself unsafe to drive and took a cab home, thinking all the way of how she would have a smorgasbord of the ingredients from her kitchen, slip into the tub, and finally into a warm bed on arriving home.

This plan went directly out the window the moment she swung open the metal door to what she thought was her empty loft, because waiting there for her, fuming and tapping his foot, was Kurt Hummel. She came very close to leaping out of her own skin in that moment.

"Kurt! _God_! What are you doing in here?" She threw her scarf down to the couch, followed shortly by her coat, and swung the door shut behind her, frowning at him all the while.

"I still have a key, remember?" he pointed out, matching her tone.

"Well, you scared the daylights out of me. Couldn't you have waited outside this once?"

"No. You know why? Because my best friend scared the _crap_ out of me when she disappeared for almost two whole days without a note, a text, or even a goddamn phone call!" Kurt screeched, and Rachel flinched, bending to take her boots off to cover. "Do you know I came over last night, looking for you, and I searched high and low, I texted you over and over again, with no response! Do you know how close I was to calling the police?!"

"The police? _God_. I'm a grown woman, Kurt, and you are not my mother! I can go a day or two without answering your every call!" she retorted, stomping as well as she could with only socks on, to the kitchen, forcefully plugging the coffee machine in.

"Not when you're a grown, _single_ woman who lives _alone_ in New York City, you can't!" He trailed after her, stomping more successfully in his own winter boots. "You know better than that! You always, always, always take your phone and you always answer, even if it's just to say you're busy and can't talk!"

"Fine! I forgot my freaking phone here, it will never freaking happen again, are you happy, drama king?!" She slammed her mug down on the counter, alongside a spoon and the sugar container.

"No! Where have you been?!"

"I had rehearsals all day. The show opens tomorrow, if you recall," she sniped.

"And yesterday? I called, when I didn't find you here, you didn't show up yesterday, and you weren't at home. Where were you?" Kurt persisted.

Rachel puffed and huffed and finally shouted, "I went to see Finn, okay?!"

The loft fell immediately silent. Probably more silence than the place had had in over two years of divas passing through the poor apartment. At least until her coffee pot gurgled and she pulled it off the machine, pouring into her mug until it neared the lip. Without a glance at her best friend, she dashed in a small scoop of sugar and spun the black liquid in its red container, the stingy smell already teasing her nostrils and perking her brain up.

She picked up the mug in both hands, sparing a glance for the suddenly solemn Kurt before she went to sit at the pine dining table. His boot steps followed her over, and Rachel peered across at him over the rim of her mug at last when he sat across from her.

"You went alone?" he said at last, remarkably softened.

She nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me? I would have gone with you."

"I didn't want to bother you."

"Rachel. It wouldn't have been a bother. He was my brother." Kurt reached partway across the wood table. "Besides, you shouldn't have been alone there."

Rachel peered down into her mug, tilting the coffee back and forth, before she went for a sip. "I wasn't. Quinn was there."

Kurt straightened in his chair. "Quinn?"

Rachel set the mug down carefully, almost without a sound, and nodded. "Yeah, she…wanted to see him, too. Since she didn't get to be there last year."

He pursed his lips. "Didn't 'get to'? What's her excuse, exactly?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask. If she says she couldn't be there, then she couldn't," Rachel returned.

"I think you give her way too much credit."

She raised her chin. "And I think you give her too little. I was glad she was there. Really glad, Kurt. She was good to me. I don't think I'd have been able to leave if she hadn't been there."

Kurt fell silent again, and Rachel lifted her mug for more sweet caffeine, watching his agitated silence. His fingers twitched and tapped on the tabletop, expression nearly constantly switching as he fought to keep it under control. It made her stomach dance, and she looked for other distractions about the room—the swinging tail on the cat-shaped wall clock, the pattern of the floor tile.

"Well, anyway," he mumbled, and cleared his throat at last, leaning forward. "That's actually part of why I stopped by last night." He gave her a pointed frown. "To be there for you on…well, the anniversary."

She cleared her own throat. "What was the other part?"

Kurt shifted in his seat, his expression suddenly trying to contain a smile. "Okay. I need you to listen, and tell me if you think this is a good idea."

Rachel's brow furrowed slowly. "Okay, you know if you have to ask, it's probably not, though, right?"

"It's nothing bad!" he defended, brightening. "In fact, it's wonderful. If it works out."

She couldn't help a tiny smile. "You realize you have to actually tell me for me to decide whether it's a good idea."

Kurt grinned back at her. "Okay. Blaine and I have been talking about having kids. He really wants to have them—and I want that, too. Like, really. He thinks whatever method we can manage it by is okay, but you know firsthand how the surrogacy thing goes. They have the baby and then sixteen years later they want back in, and well, I think adoption is our better option."

Rachel shifted in her seat, curling a leg beneath her as she listened, chewing on her bottom lip. "Okay…so which part are you asking about?"

"Hold on, I'm getting to that. The only problem with the adoption plan is that it takes _forever_, especially for a gay couple," he explained eagerly. "Especially for a male gay couple. Even heteros sometimes have to wait up to two years, and I want babies way sooner than that. I want babies now, you know? So I was thinking about putting our name on the list _now_, that way we can have one as soon as possible. What do you think?"

The table practically bounced with Kurt's excitement, but Rachel could only stare at him. The moments of silence were too much to bear for him, as his expression dropped, even if only a fraction, and he prompted, "Well?"

She opened, closed, and then opened her mouth again before she managed, "You really want to have kids right away like that? I mean…you _just_ got married, Kurt."

His brow furrowed. "I know, that's why it's perfect. Blaine and I have everything now, we're together, we're happy, all that's left are kids. Well, and our careers, but those are lifetime achievements."

Rachel shook her head, scooping up her mug as she stood. "I really think you should be talking to Blaine about this."

He was already trailing her back to the kitchen, where she rinsed her mug, turning up the water level high to try to drown out his voice before she set it at the base.

"I will, but I didn't want to just bring it up if it's a stupid idea, which I'm kind of getting that you think it is."

"No." She turned quickly, and sighed. "No, it's not stupid, Kurt. It's…sweet that you're so excited and you want to have a family with Blaine. And it's…smart to get on the list sooner rather than later. But have you really…I mean, really thought this through?"

Kurt's arms folded across his chest, as his lips dropped into a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…you'd be parents."

"That's the general idea."

Rachel huffed. "You wouldn't just be husband and husband anymore. You wouldn't be life partners in their honeymoon phase who get to…play and fool around and enjoy each other all the time. And get to know each other." She bit on her lip.

Kurt shrugged. "Blaine and I already know everything about each other."

"Do you? I mean, you haven't lived together alone for very long, you haven't even been married for very long—"

"So what?"

Rachel opened her mouth again, but soon sighed, deflating.

"Heteros have babies all the time. Before they're married, after, they get married _because_ they're pregnant, why can't Blaine and I have one?" Kurt demanded.

"No one's saying you can't have a baby. This isn't about your sexuality, Kurt," she sighed.

"Then what is it? Is it that you don't think I'm mature enough? That I wouldn't be a good parent? That Blaine wouldn't be?"

Rachel waved her hands dismissively. "No, it's nothing like that. I know that any child would be blessed to have you and Blaine in their life."

"Then _what_?"

A pregnant pause followed. Thankfully, Rachel was spared from breaking it by the ringing of Kurt's cell phone, and from his glare when he went to answer it. His voice lifted back to its cheerful tenor the instant he said, "Hello, darling husband!"

Rachel grimaced, but said nothing more as she slipped from the room to her bedroom—finally supplied with walls and a door after her first big payment. She crashed into her pillows and groaned into a bed that had never felt more comfortable and reluctantly reached for her phone where it sat on the nightstand, hitting the power button. It must've buzzed at least twenty times after that, and she slid through the messages, deleting the angry and increasingly frantic texts from her best friend. Her thumb was practically sore by the time Kurt himself knocked and poked his head in.

"I have to head home, Blaine's misplaced his Pee Wee Herman collection," he grunted.

She pushed herself up from the mattress, painstaking as it was, and quickly said, "Okay. Look, Kurt, just ignore me. I'm just…after yesterday, I'm just tired and… Honestly, I think you and Blaine will be really wonderful parents."

Rachel offered him an earnest smile, one Kurt could not resist, and soon enough he came over to hug her and kiss the top of her head, saying, "I understand. Just…call me, next time you decide to road trip ten hours away? Or at least text to let me know you're not dead?"

He straightened up, and she nodded up to him with a smile. "I will. Promise."

"Good. Get some rest before the show tomorrow." He squeezed her shoulder before he headed toward the door.

Rachel nodded after him. "Night, Kurt."

"Night, Rachel."

Once she heard the metal door sliding shut, Rachel slumped into her pillows again, with a milder groan, and despite the injection of caffeine, the food for thought her best friend had given her, and the continuing grumble of her stomach, she was sleeping like a baby in moments.


End file.
